Never Trust a Rake

So she had read the works of Dean Swift. Of course she had, with a father like hers. And the way she was chattering away now, taking his own knowledge of literature for granted, showed that she was well used to holding conversations that assumed all participants had a high level of education.

He’d been correct to tell her that with a few tips from him, she could learn to dazzle a man. Even without the benefit of his tuition, tonight, she was quite captivating. The way she was smiling at him, for instance, inviting him to share her amusement, was well nigh irresistible. He would defy any man not to smile back.

He would swear she was nowhere near so unappealing as he recalled, either. While she chattered on he surreptitiously scanned her outfit. The dress she was wearing tonight complemented both her colouring and her slender form. The accessories were not the least bit vulgar, so that anyone who didn’t know better would never dream she was being sponsored for this Season by a cit. But he rather thought it was the sparkle in her eyes that made her look so very different from the last times he’d seen her.

In fact, if she could but learn to keep a rein on her temper, she could very easily become a hit, without him having to make people think she had some hidden fascination which so far only he had discerned.

‘Why, then, have I not heard of this riot?’ It was time he made some contribution to the conversation. ‘Because if the thing escalated into a public brawl, involving the male servants of several houses and a pack of...yahoos...’

‘Oh, it didn’t come to that. Fortunately Mr Crimmer’s foot slipped on a cobble and he went down with his opponent on top of him. He was stunned for a few moments. Or he might just have been winded, I suppose, because...well, let us say that his opponent is no lightweight.’ She sparkled up at him.

He laughed outright at the picture she had just painted. And it struck him how very rarely he laughed, genuinely laughed, with amusement. Very few people shared his sense of humour. Or suspected he even had one. Miss Gibson, he realised, had looked right past the outer shell, which was all most people wanted to see, and reached right to the man he...not the man he was, or even the man he wanted to be, but perhaps the man he might have been had things been different.

‘But anyway, before he recovered the power of speech, the yahoo claimed it as a victory and went away, taking his friends with him.’

‘In short,’ he said, inspecting his fingertips with an air of feigned innocence, ‘far from exacting any kind of revenge, I have furnished you with no end of entertainment.’

‘You... I...’ She shut her mouth with a snap. ‘I absolutely refuse to allow you to goad me into losing my temper with you again,’ she said resolutely. ‘Because you did, at least, warn me what it would be like. And it has all ended rather well for Mildred and Mr Crimmer, at least.’

‘Good God,’ he said with disgust. ‘Are you really the kind of person who detects silver linings within even the darkest clouds? Not only have you completely outdated notions of morality, but it now appears that you also suffer from an incurable case of optimism.’

‘Oh, well,’ she said airily, ‘if you do not wish to hear the end of the tale, then naturally, I shall not bore you any longer.’ She made as if to leave the alcove.

‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ He seized her arm, just above the elbow, and turned her back. ‘You know full well that there is much more I want to hear. Oh, not about this Crimmer person, or your pretty little hen-witted cousin Mildred. It is obvious that once he leapt to her defence she has now cast him in the role of hero and his suit will prosper. No, what interests me is how you managed to wring social victory from what might have so easily been a crushing defeat.’

She pretended not to understand him.

‘I want to know,’ he persisted, ‘how you got an invitation to this house, of all houses. Lord Danbury has a reputation for being very exclusive. Just being seen here will do your credit no end of good.’

‘Well, it all stems from that incident, you know. Because after that, my aunt became far more discerning about who she would permit into her drawing room. Nobody gets in just because they have a title, any more. A visitor has to have some valid reason, apart from vulgar curiosity, before Warnes will allow them past the hall. Which meant that those wishing to have their curiosity satisfied had to send their sisters, or cousins, or aunts to ferret out what information they could.’